


hope for the damned

by bruisedbutlovely



Series: bittersweet words // oneshots [4]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Angst, Family, Family Dynamics, Family Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Phil is the Sky God, Philza Angst, Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Sky Gods - Freeform, Unhappy Ending, Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot's Randomizer Series, he adopts wilbur, he's also the Angel of Death, who's a mortal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28644669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisedbutlovely/pseuds/bruisedbutlovely
Summary: When the boy spawned on that one piece of bedrock in the middle of the sky, Phil was supposed to kill him.He couldn't.---or a god grows attached to a mortal even though mortals will always leave
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Series: bittersweet words // oneshots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2160981
Comments: 30
Kudos: 217





	hope for the damned

**Author's Note:**

> this one combines two ideas i had!!!!
> 
> and do i write wilbur soot (the character on the smp) too much? probably
> 
> i hope you enjoy, this one was a lot of fun to write! <3

Gods were nothing if not selfish. 

They didn’t care for mortals, they never have. They might be able to trick the beings that they created to worship them, to believe that they were merciful and kind and forgiving but don’t fall for their tricks. They are greedy and impulsive and once the mortal has grown out of their use, the gods throw them away as if they were nothing. 

The gods never cared. 

Oh, there were many of them, ranging from small gods of lakes and rivers to gods of the Nether, of realms to gods of blood, of karma, of peace, of death. They never cared and that’s what made them scary but also trustworthy, predictable.

For when a mortal is in favor of a god, they know that they’ll be thrown away. They know that the time of power, of being separate from other mortals will eventually come to an end. And they know that nothing lasts forever.

No, the gods that are terrifying are the ones that do care.

The gods that get attached to mortals and try to give them everything. The gods that love mortals and want to break the rules of immortality. The gods that can’t lose their mortals, their weak and so corruptible humans and when the call of death comes for them, the god cannot bear to release them to the grasps of the underworld. 

Those gods are the one that destroy mountains, level cities, and bring the world to its knees.

Those gods turn into stories, turn into fairy tales, turn into myths. 

This story is one of those, of a god that cared and loved too much and a mortal who had the misfortune of being the subject of that love. And it all started in a country called L’Manburg, a country formed by friends that was simply doomed from the start. 

But before that tale, you must know the story of the Angel of Death and how he met the human he now calls his son. 

✦✧✦✧

The Angel of Death wasn’t always the Angel of Death. 

The name he had before that was simply Phil and his wings, now black with ash and red with blood, used to be a pure and blinding white. However, that was a long time ago.

Phil was the god of the skies, of the void, of the rising and setting sun. He flew high above the clouds, high above the rain that he controlled. He spent time among the blue sky and folded snowflakes with care, watching over the humans with little care.

He’s never seen the reason to have a human hero or a human lover. They only die at the end, no matter what they’re given or what the gods promise them for no mortal can live forever. It is simply against the rules and laws that the gods made oh so long ago, long before Phil was the Angel of Death. 

But when he met the human, he was the Angel.

He took souls to the beyond, to rest for forever in the void among a bed of stars. When they died, no matter what gods favored them, Phil would come and pry the soul from whoever’s hands, finally putting them to sleep for eternity. The sky god would always come, no matter how they tried to hide, and he would take them away in his arms with his wings protecting them from the rest of the world. And no matter how much the humans or gods begged, he took the soul away.

Phil always took them away. 

However, when he saw that human on that island in the sky, Phil hesitated.

The boy couldn’t have been more than seven and looked so innocent, so naive. He was dressed in a yellow sweater and black pants along with boots and was so completely lost with the events that tumbled to get him here so out of his grasp. The boy shivered as the North wind came raging through and Phil banished the wind without a second thought, a simple flick of his wrist causing the wind to die down suddenly. 

Phil didn’t know why the boy was here, so vulnerable in a god’s domain but when the boy’s name burned behind his eyes, a sign of his coming death, Phil couldn’t do it. 

Oh, he couldn’t do it.

For unlike so many other gods of death known, Phil did perform the final action to cut the mortal’s ties to the Overworld. Whether it be an effortless heart attack or a betrayal that no one saw coming, Phil was there when the last breath was taken. 

_ Falling _ .

That’s how the boy was going to die. And all the Angel of Death had to do was give him the final nudge off the piece of bedrock into the ocean below that couldn’t even be seen. 

He couldn’t do it. 

The name burned in a gold script behind Phil’s eyes and yet, he ignored it, ignored the command beating in his head, ignored the small voice in his head telling him that the human was nothing. 

Wilbur Soot. 

That was the boy’s name. 

And he would be the first and very last human that the Angel of Death ever favored.

Though, he didn’t know that yet. He didn’t even know the god yet. 

Whatever time the god could slip away was spent in the air flying around Wilbur’s home in the sky. Every so often, the god would drop an item into the boy’s hand, completely random and maybe he did it simply to see the hope in Wilbur’s eyes brighten up ever so slightly. Or maybe he did it to just let the other know that he wasn’t alone. 

Wilbur eventually put a name to him; the Sky God. 

The young boy had never heard the story of the Angel of Death. 

His small home in the sky grew ever bigger as Phil dropped more and more blocks into his capable hands, always invisible and always silent. Animals came in the form of spawn eggs, something only the gods were allowed, but Wilbur’s smile and quiet whispers to the fish he named Milo was worth any punishment the other gods could give him. Every day passed and Phil continued to watch the boy grow. 

And although Phil knew it was greedy, he refused to give the boy any dirt or saplings.

Because once Wilbur had that, what would he need Phil for?

Oh, gods were always selfish.

For ten years, Phil continued to watch the boy grow up. He watched him grow ever taller, towering over Phil by the time he was fifteen. He watched him grow smarter as he sewed a blanket to help push away the coldness of the night even though Phil never let the wind come through again. He watched him wonder where the items came from but always end up thanking the Sky God, the only being that seemed to truly care for him. He watched him become good with his words once Phil started to drop books in his hands along with blocks and items. And he watched him begin to wonder what was underneath his home, underneath the cloud. 

When Wilbur turned seventeen, Phil knew he had to let his boy go. For the longer he kept Wil, the more the gods began to question why the Angel of Death got so attached to a human that was unfortunate enough to be in his domain. And although Phil wanted to keep Wilbur in the skies forever, protect him against the cruelty of humanity and gods, he knew it was the boy’s time to go. 

So, Phil gently whispered when Wilbur was asleep, telling him that it was safe to fall, that he would survive. And one day, Wilbur took New Milo, for old Milo was taken by Phil long ago, and said goodbye to his home forever.

He fell.

And although the gold script still burned behind Phil’s eyes, he brushed his fingers through the air to give his boy a soft landing in an ocean, land not too far away. 

With tears in his eyes, Phil watched Wilbur release New Milo in the sea before swimming towards the land. Wilbur pulled himself onto the beach, gasping but happy, and he flopped onto his back, staring up at the sky, the place he lived for as long as he can remember. 

Phil turned away, tears falling down his face. 

He almost missed Wilbur’s whispered  _ thank you, dad. _

And he ignored Wilbur’s name flashing behind his eyes. 

✦✧✦✧

The Angel of Death wasn’t always the Angel of Death.

But it seemed like he was. 

Time started to blend together when Phil watched Wilbur walk away from the ocean, never looking back. Oh, he knew that if he ever tried to find Wilbur again, even see him for just a second, he might want to wrap him in his wings again and not let go because that was the only way Phil knew that Wilbur would be safe. 

Wilbur was a mortal and no matter how much Phil loved him, he would still die.

That didn’t make it hurt any less.

So, Phil threw himself back into his work, threw himself into cutting the ties between mortals and the beyond, ignoring that he was supposed to do that with Wilbur and ignoring the fear that clutched his heart whenever a new name came flashing up. Because one day, he knew that the name would be Wilbur’s again. 

And although Phil knew that human lives were so short and so easy to get rid of, he couldn’t help but hope that maybe, Wil would defy expectations. He was always good at that, at crushing first impressions and somehow being completely different than anyone’s predictions. 

If anyone could defy fate, it would be his son.

But the gold cursive of his son’s name mocked him and for a second, Phil couldn’t breathe. His heart stuttered and golden blood flying through his veins seemed to still. Falling to his knees, Phil curled into himself, his wings protecting him like they’ve protected many souls before. But this time, there was no soul to protect, only the Angel from his own fate. 

From his own destiny. 

_ Explosion.  _

His wings took him through the air, towards a place he’s never been. The last time he flew over it, it was simply plains with one brick building lying in the middle of a lake. But this time, he saw what he could only describe as the end of the world.

A crater sat where a great city must have been. Water from surrounding lakes and creeks poured into the hole in the ground, sweeping away decorations like they were nothing. Withers littered the sky and shot at anything that moved as they were simply tools of destruction. And finally, people dressed in netherrite armor with weapons parkoured around the crater, fighting the withers and each other. 

But the name still flashed behind his eyes, mocking him. 

The Angel of Death saw a familiar face, a piglin hybrid that stood off to the side, wither skeleton skulls in his head. Phil met him before, way before he ever knew Wilbur, and knew they now called him the Blood God. But Phil only knew him as…

“Technoblade,” Phil didn’t even bother to hide himself as he landed on an unsteady platform. His godly aura came out full force and his wings, black and dark, spread behind him, blocking out the sun as he stared at the other immortal being. “Where is he?”

  
  
The two gods didn’t stay in contact but they were always close. After all, death always followed war.

“Who?” Techno’s voice was rough and harsh and his godly aura flared when Phil’s did. He must have been hiding it for a long time. But Phil didn’t care why Techno was there. He didn’t care at all.

“My son,” Phil’s eyes began to glow as he started to lose more control. The name was still there and the sky above started to crack and seemingly split open as the war seemed to draw to a pause, the people fighting stopping to stare at the god. “Where is my son?”

  
  
“Gods don’t have sons.”

“Wilbur,” Phil’s voice boomed and echoed in the crater. Then, he grew quiet again. “Where is Wilbur?”

Techno’s eyes softened ever so slightly and he looked over Phil’s shoulder. He followed the Blood God’s line of sight and saw a room covered in scrawls on the wall, half destroyed by the explosion. But there, lying on the stone ground, was a familiar head of curly brown hair.

His son. 

One, two steps and Phil’s wings caught the air, caught the wind he manipulated so many times before to keep Wilbur warm at night. It threw him into the room and he landed on his feet, finding his boy.

Wilbur wore a dirty old trench coat with a red beanie resting over his curls. He laid on his back, facing the ceiling. His head was dropped like a puppet with its strings cut and his hands curled around his torso, covered in his own blood. And Phil let out a cry. 

Stumbling forward, his hands first reached for his son’s chest, pulling Wilbur’s own bloodied hands away. Oh, it was a mess of burns, cuts, and rips but a large wound cut straight through his chest from who knows what. Phil’s breath came out in short gasps as he saw it for not even a god could save him now.

With his hands covered in his son's own blood, Phil shakily came up to grip Wilbur’s face, ignoring the ash and scars littering his youthful face. He brushed his thumb across Wilbur’s cheek, drawing a streak of blood, of ash, of soot. 

“My son,” Tears began to freely fall down his face. “Oh, Wil, I’m so sorry.”

“Dad?”

Wilbur’s eyes blinked open and for the first and last time, Wilbur finally saw his father. 

“Hey mate,” Phil tried to smile for his son but his lips wouldn’t seem to cooperate. 

But Wilbur smiled, blood dripping down his mouth. “You finally came.”

“Wil…”

“Who knew all it would take was my death?”   
  


“No, Wilbur…” Phil helped him up, ignoring the way Wilbur whimpered when the wound was jostled. He pulled his son against his chest, letting Wilbur’s head lean against his shoulder with his body in Phil’s lap. “You could have prayed to me.”

  
  
“Would you have answered?”

He held his son closer. “I didn’t want to let you go but it was your time to see the world, to see what it offered. I couldn’t keep you in the sky.”

“Oh,” Wilbur coughed and more of that murky red liquid dripped from his mouth. “I wish I could have stayed.”

  
  
“Me too,” Phil whispered. “Me too.”

The sun began to set and the god knew that the mortal in his arms only had a few minutes. His wings curled around his son to try and protect him one last time. 

“You don’t look like what I imagined,” Wilbur’s hand came up to rest on Phil’s cheek. “I thought you would be...taller.”

Despite himself, Phil chuckled and his hand came to rest over Wilbur’s. “I’m sorry for never showing myself.”

  
  
“It’s okay,” Wilbur shrugged with great difficulty. “You gave me enough.” 

“I was selfish, Wil. And now you’re suffering because of me,” Phil gripped his son tighter because maybe, he was afraid that he would just disappear. “I just couldn’t kill you when you spawned on that bedrock, when you were only seven and didn’t deserve a cruel fate. But now, I can feel the insanity under your skin and it’s all my fault.”

“It’s okay,” Wilbur repeated. “I’m glad you did because otherwise, I wouldn’t have built and done all of this.”

Phil glanced out at the destruction. “I’m sure it was beautiful.”

“It was.”

All other sounds faded out. 

“Dad?”

  
  
It was like the world went quiet. 

“Yes, son?”

  
  
It was simply the two of them.

“Are you proud of me?”

  
  
And that was enough.

“I’ve always have been, Wil.”

Wilbur Soot’s eyes closed.

And the golden script behind Phil’s eyes faded. 

But tears still fell down his face and the body was still in his arms. 

✦✧✦✧

Gods were nothing if not selfish. 

They take and they take and they take until there is nothing left. They laugh and they boast and they take the offerings that mortals bring without a care. Sure, they can seem nice and friendly but it is all simply lies designed to catch mortals like a spider and her web. And once the mortal was truly gone, they were thrown away as if they were nothing. 

The gods never cared. 

They knew that nothing lasts forever.

But sometimes, they cared. Sometimes, they defied fate to save a single mortal. Sometimes, they gave away their own belongings just to see the mortal survive another night. Sometimes, they redirected their own powers to protect the mortal. Sometimes, they broke rules for the mortal. Sometimes, they let the mortal go and make their own way in the world.

And sometimes, they truly loved the mortal. 

But those are simply stories, fairy tales, myths. 

Gods cannot care for mortals. Gods cannot protect mortals. Gods cannot love mortals.

The Angel of Death stood at the edge of the newly rebuilt L’Manburg. Next to him was the oh so famous Blood God, returning yet again, and on the other side was Dream, another masked god who simply cared for chaos. 

The withers waited to be formed and the TNT waited to fall. 

The Angel of Death’s wings were stained with his son’s blood.


End file.
